


a safe place to land

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Fluff, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, Love, M/M, Married Couple, Massage, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, acts of service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “Hey,” Eddie says softly. Richie lifts his head without opening his eyes, and Eddie goes to him, threading his hands through Richie’s hair and pushing his fingers lightly through the strands. Richie’s head shifts back with the pressure. Eddie untangles his curls delicately, one lock at a time, while Richie leans into his touch.Richie tips his head back a little bit, lifting his chin so Eddie will kiss him. Eddie gives him one soft kiss, chaste and closed-mouthed, before he gets up again.“Stay,” Eddie says. Richie hums a little bit, rubbing at one eye with the side of his fist.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 49
Kudos: 502





	a safe place to land

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from ["Honest Man"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIFed5a9jBQ) by Ben Platt.

Eddie’s mad that Richie’s late, but he’s not mad at Richie. He’s mad that Richie texted him at one o’clock that afternoon  _ can’t wait to see you tonight  _ followed by twelve different heart emojis. He’s mad that Richie was supposed to be home at five o’clock, but was being kept late. He’s mad as  _ fucking hell  _ that it’s now nearly fucking  _ midnight  _ and Richie  _ still  _ isn’t home.

Eddie’s angrily scrolling through Twitter, looking for someone blatantly wrong enough to pick an easy argument with. He hears the front door lock of their house jiggling, then the  _ click  _ of their doorknob as Richie slides in. Eddie comes out to find him dropping his messenger bag next to their closed front door, yawning widely.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie says, making Richie jump a little.

“Hey, sorry, I’ll move my bag in a sec,” Richie tells him. Eddie goes over to him, pulls Richie’s jacket back off his arms and hangs it up on their coat rack.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie says, “I’ll get it in the morning.”

“You sure?” Richie asks. Eddie kneels down, unlacing one of Richie’s boots, then the other. He shifts, pulling at Richie’s heel, and Richie puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder to balance himself so Eddie can pull his boot off. He does the same with the other one. “Eds, you don’t—”

“You look exhausted,” Eddie interrupts him. He sets Richie’s boots aside neatly and looks up at him. Richie cups Eddie’s face in his hand, and Eddie stands, kissing him gently and sliding his hands up over Richie’s chest. “Do you want to take a bath?”

Richie makes a small frowning face, his brow creasing up a bit. He’s not awake enough to make full facial expressions, so Eddie tips his face down in his direction, looking up at him with a furrowed brow of his own, studying Richie’s tired face. Richie yawns as Eddie studies him, his glasses slipping a bit. Eddie pushes them back up for him.

“Come on,” Eddie tells him. He takes Richie’s hand, kisses the back of it, and guides him down the hallway, up the stairs, and to their master bedroom. He sits Richie down on the edge of their bed and kisses him on the forehead; Richie sighs and leans into him.

“I’m gonna fall asleep if you leave me here,” Richie murmurs. Eddie kisses his forehead a second time, then pulls back, unbuttoning Richie’s shirt slowly, unhurried, one button at a time. Richie watches him out of one eye, the other one squeezed shut. The look on his face makes Eddie smile as he unthreads the last button.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie reassures him. He pulls Richie’s shirt off, folding it and setting it aside on their bed. He untucks Richie’s undershirt, then grips it by the hem and pulls it up over Richie’s head. Richie moves obligingly, lifting his arms so Eddie can pull the shirt more easily off. He leans in, running his hand over Richie’s belly as he kisses him on the cheek. Richie sighs again, turning his face into Eddie’s until the sides of their noses touch. “Stay here.”

Richie stays while Eddie goes into the master bathroom, plugging their bathtub and starting the hot water. He uses some of the things he keeps for the bath that Richie always makes fun of, bath salts and the like, and puts them in, too. After a moment of hesitation, he lights a couple of candles, too, and leaves them on the counter by the sink. When he goes back to Richie, he’s half-asleep, yawning and hunched over with his face in one palm.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly. Richie lifts his head without opening his eyes, and Eddie goes to him, threading his hands through Richie’s hair and pushing his fingers lightly through the strands. Richie’s head shifts back with the pressure. Eddie untangles his curls delicately, one lock at a time, while Richie leans into his touch.

Richie tips his head back a little bit, lifting his chin so Eddie will kiss him. Eddie gives him one soft kiss, chaste and closed-mouthed, before he gets up again.

“Stay,” Eddie says. Richie hums a little bit, rubbing at one eye with the side of his fist. Eddie goes back into the kitchen, grabs the plate he had left out on the counter earlier and comes back, sets the plate aside in their bathroom. Richie watches him tiredly, eyes drifting shut again halfway through Eddie’s bustling around. He comes back to find Richie rubbing at his eyes again. “Alright, up.”

“Up?” Richie asks. Eddie goes to him and takes his hands, stepping back so Richie will get the hint and stand up. Luckily, he does, not so far gone yet that he can’t figure that out. Eddie unloops the button on his jeans, unzips them and tugs them down, going to one knee so Richie can step out of them. He does the same with his boxer-briefs, pulling them down and folding them with Richie’s jeans, setting them aside with his other clothes on the bed. His socks come last, and Eddie loops them together before he takes Richie’s hand again and pulls him towards the bathroom.

“Did you eat dinner?” Eddie asks. Richie shakes his head, which Eddie had been expecting, since Richie has a bad habit of forgetting entire meals if he’s working or distracted. He tests the water with his hand before turning off the faucet and guiding Richie to step into the bathtub, letting him lower himself down while he grabs his snack plate and offers it over to him. “Eat something.”

“It’s late,” Richie murmurs. Eddie lifts one of the apple slices with peanut butter on it, holding it out to Richie; he goes to take it just for Eddie to pull it back a little bit. Richie rolls his eyes, but he opens his mouth, and Eddie lets him bite the apple slice in half. “You’re dumb.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Eddie scolds him. Richie smiles at him, and Eddie gives him the other half of the apple slice before setting the plate aside on the floor. He pulls Richie’s glasses off and folds them up, puts them next to the plate.

“Sorry I’m home so late,” Richie says, while Eddie’s grabbing his hairbrush. Eddie doesn’t dignify that with a response, sitting up so he can lean over the edge of their bathtub and start brushing out Richie’s hair properly. He takes it section by section, stopping now and then to offer Richie something to eat again. Richie keeps his eyes shut through most of it, obviously drifting in and out of consciousness when he leans into Eddie’s hands.

“There,” Eddie says, when Richie’s hair is brushed out and free of knots, and he’s finished most of the snack plate. He sets the hairbrush aside and sits up again, cupping his hands full of hot water. “Shut your eyes.”

Richie ducks his head slightly and closes his eyes, and Eddie gently lets the water fall over his head, wetting his hair. Richie has thick hair, and a lot of it, so it takes a few passes before Eddie’s able to wet his entire head, but he gets there. He takes Richie’s shampoo and lathers it between his hands, warming it up before he goes to Richie’s head with it. Richie leans his head back as Eddie digs into his scalp.

“Fuck,” Richie murmurs, almost soundless. Eddie works the shampoo through Richie’s hair once, then twice, just to make sure he’s gotten all of it, and then rinses it out again with cupped hands from the water. He takes Richie’s hair between his fingers, stroking it lightly as he looks it over before grabbing the shampoo to do it again.

With the bathroom door shut and the overhead lights off, the room seemed warmer than usual, humid and small in a cozy sort of way. The lights over the mirror make enough light to see by while the candlelight flickers across their faces in orange clouds, drifting through the steam from the hot water. Eddie takes to Richie’s hair again, starting at his hairline and working backwards along his temples. It’s smoother this time, now that he’s washed it once, so he does a more thorough job, working the shampoo through each strand of Richie’s hair until his head is a foamy mess of curls and suds.

“Duck again,” Eddie says, and Richie drops his head. Eddie scoops water up and over his head from the crown. Richie’s eyes stay closed as Eddie rinses all the shampoo out, meticulous to the last lock of his hair, Richie’s dark hair an inky black where it spills across his face, sticking to the wet skin of his cheeks and his sharp jaw. He yawns again, and Eddie pulls his hair back lightly, slicking it back against his head.

“Aren’t you tired?” Richie asks. Eddie shrugs, grabbing Richie’s conditioner and putting what he considers exactly the right amount in his hand, even though Richie usually just squirts a random amount into his palm and goes for it. He puts the fingertips of his other hand on Richie’s chin, tipping his head back until his wet hair is hanging loose. It’s then that he starts working the conditioner through it, starting at the ends and then working his way up towards his scalp. Richie sighs, then pulls his legs up, shifting his position so he can rest his cheek against his knee while Eddie works.

“I’m not all that tired,” Eddie answers, finally. Richie hums a little in acknowledgment, eyes closed and shoved into his kneecaps. “More just missed you. Pissed they made you stay late.”

“Ah, I’ll go in late tomorrow,” Richie mumbles. “Make up for it.”

“Don’t go in at all,” Eddie says. “Play hooky.”

“How irresponsible of you,” Richie says. “Dangerously out of character. I just might do it to encourage you to do that again.”

“You bring out the rebel in me,” Eddie tells him. He rinses his hands in the bathwater again, then says, “Duck,” before he starts rinsing the conditioner out, too. Richie lets him work, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing a bit as Eddie works the conditioner out of his hair with the water. He leans in, kisses Richie’s freckled shoulder lightly, feeling his body hair and the hard shape of his bone under his kiss. Richie sighs under him again.

“I’m gonna fall asleep in here,” Richie warns him. “It’s all warm and shit and you’re making me sleepy.”

“Alright, hold on,” Eddie says, playing at impatient but landing on stupidly fond. He grabs his body sponge off the side of the tub and works his body wash through it, then sets to lightly scrubbing Richie’s skin with it. He starts on his chest, rubbing down and over his arms to his hands, then across to his belly and over his legs under the water. Richie shifts and lets Eddie move him how he wants, so Eddie can scrub at his ankles with his head pressed into Richie’s damp shoulder, making his own hair start to curl up against his face from the proximity to the heat and humidity.

He does Richie’s back last, smoothing the sponge over Richie’s broad shoulders and watching the soap rivulets and rivers of water sluicing down his back. After he rinses the soap off, he ducks his head in, kissing the knobs of Richie’s spine up to the top one, then into his wet hair, nosing along the fresh, clean scent of him.

“Alright, one last rinse,” Eddie tells him, standing up to turn on their shower head, taking it down and pointing it away from Richie as it warms up. Once it’s hot enough, he kneels back down, aiming it just past Richie before slowly pulling it up and over his head, rinsing the very last of the conditioner and body wash off of him. Richie scrubs tiredly at his own face under the spray before Eddie turns it off and unplugs the drain, offering Richie a hand to help him out.

He tells Richie to stay on the rug right outside the bathtub as he digs their softest towel out of their linen closet. He wraps it around Richie tightly before patting him down with it, making sure his skin is warm and damp instead of outright wet. He grabs a smaller towel, too, and guides Richie into sitting down on the edge of the bathtub so he can gently rub his hair towards dryness with it. Richie’s hair is too thick to be fully dried that way, but he gets a lot of the water out before he has to get the hair dryer and actively work through drying sections of his hair.

For his part, Richie just sits quietly in his towel, leaning slightly into Eddie’s touch while Eddie uses the hair dryer and the brush to dry Richie’s hair for him. It curls as it dries, lock by lock twisting up under Eddie’s fingers. It reminds him of when they were younger, when they didn’t feel the need to put product in their hair or be presentable or anything like that. Carefree and natural and just so authentically  _ Richie, _ genuinely and deeply him, innate and instinctive. It activates something almost primal in Eddie, the need to protect him and keep him safe, since Richie’s his husband and that’s Eddie’s  _ job. _

When Richie’s hair is completely dried out and brushed, and his skin is just warm and dry instead of damp, now, Eddie blows out the candles and pulls Richie back into their bedroom. He takes the towel from him, bringing it and Richie’s clothes to the laundry before coming back with Richie’s robe. It’s a huge thing, soft and cherry-red and plush, and he slips it over Richie’s arms before pulling it closed across his chest. He only ties it loosely before flicking off their bedroom light and pulling Richie towards their bed.

He pulls back their covers and slips Richie into them, the two of them settling between soft satin sheets while Eddie tugs their blankets back up. He sits up against the headboard, fitting Richie in between the juncture of his legs so he can press his face into Richie’s back for a moment.

“I love you,” Eddie tells him, softly. Richie hums a little, and Eddie can feel it in his teeth, in the marrow of his bones, vibrating through him.

“Love you, too,” Richie murmurs back. Eddie sits up properly, taking the tense lines of Richie’s shoulders under his hands and digging his fingers into the muscles, working through the tightness there. Richie spends a lot of time writing, either over a notebook on a table or a laptop on a desk, and it makes the muscles in his back and shoulders all stiff. He complains about it, but doesn’t seem to understand that it can actually be  _ improved,  _ which is where Eddie comes in. Richie’s a useless frat bro at heart, unable to process things that might make his life better, simply accepting everything as  _ that’s life.  _ Eddie wants to show him all the little ways he can take care of himself.

He moves across Richie’s left shoulder first, working out the knots he finds while Richie groans under his hands, making breathier sounds when it hurts more. He squirms, now and then, and Eddie will stop, kissing the knots of his spine as he gentles his touch and gets back to work again.

“I love your shoulders,” Eddie comments, like he’s just observing. Richie makes a disbelieving noise that Eddie doesn’t acknowledge. “Look at you. You’re so big.”

“I—”

“Nope,” Eddie says. “I love it. I love how big you are. I love your shoulders,” and he runs his palms across the long lines of them, stretches their broad width before pulling back in towards his spine again. “And I love your back, I love how soft you are. And how built you are. It’s just— I don’t know, you’re so masculine, just— Brawny. And your jaw,” Eddie says, cupping Richie’s face in his hands, stroking his thumb over the knob of his jaw, “your face, you’re so handsome, Richie. I look at you sometimes and I just— I want you to know how I see you. I want you to feel good about yourself like I feel good about you. I mean it. I love you.”

Richie pulls his legs up again and drops his face into them. He exhales, long and slow, then shakes a little with a wet laugh. Eddie goes back to work on massaging his right shoulder, now.

“I love you, too, Eds,” Richie murmurs. Eddie works out the knots in his muscles in the darkness and the quiet, letting Richie doze off lightly as he finally draws out the worst of the tension. He digs his knuckles in deep along Richie’s spine, too, smoothing the muscles under his hands as he goes. Richie groans, now and then, soft and low. He’s mostly asleep by the time Eddie decides he’s done and leans back against the pillows again. He draws Richie down, crossing his legs and cupping Richie’s head in his lap against his thighs.

Richie’s still mostly asleep, but only mostly. Not fully, not yet. Eddie scratches his nails along Richie’s scalp, twisting himself down to kiss Richie on the forehead. He has to contort a little bit to get there, but Richie smiles when he does it, tipping his head up into Eddie’s kiss. It’s domestic, and soft, and everything Eddie’s always wanted with Richie. It’s just as much for him as it ever is for Richie, when he does things like this. It makes him feel settled, in a deep way he doesn’t even fully understand. It’s the same way he loves Richie, somehow.

He plays with Richie’s hair tenderly, threading his fingers through the soft, clean curls as Richie yawns again. When he pulls all of Richie’s hair back, lock by lock, until it’s all smoothed and settled into place, he moves on. His fingertips shift to Richie’s face, starting at the center of his forehead and sliding down around his temples, swooping down along the lines of his jaw to meet at his chin. Gently, quietly, he strokes over Richie’s face, across his cheekbones, under his eyes, along the lines of his brow. Richie finally fully drifts off to sleep while he’s doing it, his body relaxing with the dead weight that only comes with being unconscious and unaware of your own physical form.

Richie turns his face into Eddie’s thigh, sighing softly in his sleep. Eddie shifts to pull Richie up, letting his head settle on Eddie’s chest, ear over his heart. Richie always says it’s helpful to wake up like that, reassured that Eddie is back with him and alive and healthy, that everything is real and they’re both okay. Eddie tries to make sure that’s how Richie wakes up most mornings, if he can help it. Richie also moves around a lot in his sleep, though, and Eddie’s not a wizard.

Richie doesn’t wake up as he’s moved, just yawning until his jaw cracks against Eddie’s chest. Eddie keeps playing with his hair, scratching his nails lightly along his scalp over and over as he finally starts to drift off, too, warm and content there with Richie, genuinely happier than he’s ever been.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/). I'm currently taking commissions there, as well!


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